


South of the Wall

by MrProphet



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix, due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	South of the Wall

Detective Sergeant Raymond Vecchio had the horrible feeling that he was talking to himself. “Look,” he said, “I know these people and they know me; you let me go in there and I can find out where this guy is, but they see one thread a uniform and we’re dead meat.”

“Well, I appreciate that, DS Vecchio…”

Vecchio held up his hands in alarm. “Hey! I told you, Fraser…”

“Frasiel,” Constable Frasiel corrected.

“I told you, Frasiel; call me Ray. You might as well put a bullet in my head as tell the clientele in the Old Grey Mare that I’m a cop. Now just wait out here and keep your wolf with you.” He jumped out of the care and locked the door behind him. It was a shame that the passenger door wasn’t child-proofed; even an Old Kingdomer would be able to work out a door lock.

The Old Grey Mare was not the centre of all criminal activity in Corvere, but it was certainly  _a_  centre of criminal activity. The management might not be actively involved in crime, but they turned a collective blind eye when it happened.

On any given night the pub would be packed with unsavoury characters and tonight was no exception. Slipping effortlessly into his undercover persona, Ray swaggered through the door and eased through the crowd.

“Hey, Jake!” he called to the barman. “How it going?”

“Too busy for small talk,” Jake replied. “You got business, get it done.”

“Sure I got business,” Ray replied. “I just need to know where to find the party of the second part. I’m looking for Frankie Drake.” He held up a fifty. “You seen him around?”

“Maybe.” Jack replied, taking the banknote. “But there’s a problem.”

At that moment, hands grabbed Ray and dragged him backwards.

“Some of the boys here want to have a little word with you about the way your parties of the second part tend to wind up on government sponsored vacations with full room and board,” Jake explained. 

One of the ‘boys’ – an inapt description for anyone quite so large, Ray felt – snatched the service revolver from Ray’s belt holster. “Standard police issue,” he grunted.

“Lenny!” Ray laughed. “Lots of people have those guns; it doesn’t make me a cop. And when did you learn words like ‘standard’ and ‘issue’?” he wondered. “Have you been taking evening classes?”

“Now, since I don’t like violence,” Jake went on, “I suggested they take you out the back to conduct your ‘business’.”

“You’re all heart,” Ray assured the barman as the boys dragged him towards the back door. “Really; you’ll be in my prayers tonight, assuming I get a chance to pray before I get my throat cut.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jack called out. “No throat cutting!”

“Yes; listen to him,” Ray suggested.

“I am not cleaning any blood out of the alley. Can’t you strangle him or something?”

“Thanks pal. If I had time to make a will, I’d explicitly leave you out of it.”

Lenny wrapped an arm around Ray’s throat and began dragging him towards the back door, but before he reached it the door burst off the hinges and toppled into the barroom.

Constable Frasiel stood in the doorway, resplendent in his black and green livery and tall, broad-brimmed hat. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he began.

With a rattle of hammers and safety catches, weapons were drawn and levelled at Frasiel. Even Lenny aimed Ray’s pistol, although he kept an arm around Ray’s neck as well. There was a long, expectant pause.

“Ladies,” Frasier finished. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to put all of your weapons on the bar. You’re all under arrest.”

With a thud, a knife dug deep into the wood of the door frame.

“Thank you, sir; if you’ll give your name you’ll get a receipt.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Nick ‘the Knife’ Mahone demanded.

“Oh; I’m Constable Frasiel of the Royal Old Kingdom Mounted Police,” he replied.

“Oo! Scary,” Nick laughed. “What are you gonna do? Put a spell on me?”

“No, Sir.” Frasiel took off his hat and moved forward, exposing the Charter mark on his forehead. “While I have been trained in the use of Charter magic, I have no license to practice in Ancelstierre, and in fact this far south there is sufficiently little magic that I couldn’t hope to conjure with it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind laying down your weapons…”

As he got close, Nick picked up a bottle from the bar. Actually shooting a cop – of any kind – might be more than any of these assorted scum would be comfortable with, but that wouldn’t stop them giving him a damn good kicking.

Before the first blow could fall, however, Nick was distracted by a growl next to his ear. He half-turned and found himself looking into the golden eyes of the Mountie’s white-furred wolf.

The bottle dropped from her fingers and Frasiel caught it; he easily removed the pistol from Nick’s other hand while he was still frozen in shock.

“Thank you, Sir,” Frasiel said. “Sergeant Vecchio and myself will collect up your weapons.”

And somehow, the appearance of the wolf achieved what twenty armed cops never could have done. Together with the Mountie the shock value was enough to take all of the fight out of the room. When Frasiel had first arrived in Corvere, Vecchio had been worried about him; now he was worried about Corvere.


End file.
